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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168010">Clutch the Thorn, Forgo the Flower</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterBard/pseuds/ButterBard'>ButterBard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FebuWhump 2021 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ableism, Aretuza (The Witcher), Canon Disabled Character, Disability, Disabled writers writing disabled characters &lt;3, FebuWhump2021, Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, However fighting the ableism is the main feature of the fic, Magic, More details are in the end note! I encourage you to read if you're at all concerned, Potions, Pre-Transformation Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Rated M for my own comfort more than the content tbh, Self-Harm, The self harm is very minor, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:15:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterBard/pseuds/ButterBard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“They make it hard on you, sometimes." Harder than it already is.”</p><p>“Maybe they don’t know—”</p><p>“They know, Yennefer,” Sabrina said patiently, “I just don’t think they care. It’s not right.”</p><p>-x-</p><p>While still at Aretuza, Yennefer and her sister mages are given the class assignment of harvesting some stems for potions, without using their chaos. But without any fair accommodations, Yennefer has far more difficulty completing it. Tired, hurt, and angry, she gets some encouragement and acknowledgment from Sabrina, which is the strength she needs to confront Tissaia. (For the FebuWhump2021 Day 2 prompt, “I can’t take this anymore". )</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sabrina Glevissig &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tissaia de Vries &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FebuWhump 2021 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>febuwhump 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clutch the Thorn, Forgo the Flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! This is very different than my usual fics, and I'm super nervous to post it. Yennefer is my absolute star. As a disabled person, it's rare to get any representation that actually resonates with me, but Yennefer hit home in a way very few characters ever have, for that and many other reasons. But that also means it's difficult to write her, and something so personal, without the dread of getting it wrong. But I drew from my own experiences and gave it my best shot; sometimes you've just gotta take the leap. </p><p>TRIGGER WARNINGS for blatant (deeply criticized) ableism, and minorly for self-harm. To see more about these in detail, please click the More Notes button just below this for the full explanations, as there are spoilers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Her hands were bleeding.</p><p class="p1">Yennefer hated practical spellwork. There was no fucking point to it— she had her chaos, so long as she didn’t do anything completely reckless, she wouldn’t lose it. She didn’t <em>need</em> to how to mix things, create potions, charms with just her hands, her brain. Without something so inherent to her being.</p><p class="p1">Her back ached. It often did.</p><p class="p1">Nobody had bothered to think of this, had they? Bothered to think of her. Rolling out ingredients wasn’t the same for her. Her shoulders were stiff, her back rebelled against all movement, and her hands, which she’d been putting the brunt of the pressure on, were cut and bleeding.</p><p class="p1">The task was likely meant to be simple, though repetitive. After plucking the larger thorns off the stem of the dewberry, they were meant to smooth out the rest by rolling it with, not against their hands, so as to avoid being pricked by the dozens of tiny thorns still connected to the stem itself. She’d watched intently as their instructed Lumette had shown them— picking the stem up carefully, putting it an arm’s length away, and rolling the heel of their hand toward themselves. Gently, for their own sake, and to preserve the contents, which they needed for the next portion of the potion. It needed to be tenderized before harvesting, but not destroyed. Tow the balance.</p><p class="p1">"Move with your shoulders, not your wrists," Lumette had said, and that should have been her biggest warning flag, but she'd been too determined to see it. "If you don't lead with your shoulders, the whole thing will fall apart." </p><p class="p1">She’d been confident, though annoyed at not being able to use her chaos. But that was all. Not worried, not anxious, just so fucking sure of herself. </p><p class="p1">Lumette had left for a meeting with the Brotherhood, after giving her instructions, “Ta, all, I trust your results will be stunning. Take your time, and if you need to start over, there are more stems by the board! I expect you all to have one stem’s worth in your hand by tomorrow morning.”</p><p class="p1">And then Yennefer set to work beside her sisters, her fellow mages, her equals— or, near equals. She knew her own worth. Plucking the larger thorns had been a small challenge as her fingers fought against her, but it was nothing compared to rolling out this fucking stem. She couldn’t reach as far, couldn’t give even enough pressure to both hands. The dais she worked at was too high, the repetitive motions were hell on her upper body, and she couldn’t find the right way to roll that didn’t hurt her hands, with their limited motions.</p><p class="p1">Her eyes stung with unshed tears. Fucking stupid.</p><p class="p1">The stem’s thorns had cut into her so many times, she’d had to wipe blood off of the thing five times already, and was quickly approaching the sixth. She took out her rag again and began wiping it down when the realization struck her like a boulder— she’d crushed the stem far too much already. She couldn’t even use it anymore.</p><p class="p1">She felt a string of curses fall out of her mouth without registering what they were or to who they were addressed, and then, “I can’t take this anymore!”</p><p class="p1">This always fucking happened. Nobody cared about her. Nobody thought about what she might need. They were meant to be teaching her, but they just couldn’t THINK. And every time, they left her behind, left her to fend for herself, gave her thorns and her sister's roses.</p><p class="p1">She wasn’t asking for things to be easy. She knew she had things difficult, difficult in ways nobody at Aretuza could really understand. But was it really so much to ask that they not put her in harm’s way? Was it so much to ask that they made sure she could hold her breath before pushing her in the deep end?</p><p class="p1">A tear fell, and as she wiped it off she looked up and saw that most of her sisters had long since gone. Only Sabrina was left, rolling what looked like a third stem. She looked up carefully, and then back down at her work.</p><p class="p1">“There are other ways to do this,” Sabrina said softly, continuing to roll. Yennefer frowned.</p><p class="p1">“What?”</p><p class="p1">“There are other ways. To harvest the centers of the dewberry stem without using chaos, I mean. I’ve done it before.” Sabrina looked up and met Yennefer’s eyes. “I don’t know why they didn’t show us all of them. It doesn’t make sense for you to harvest like this,” she said and returned her gaze to the stem opening underneath her hands. “They make it hard on you, sometimes. Harder than it already is.”</p><p class="p1">Yennefer said nothing, processing everything. They had intentionally withheld information. Fuck, but— why would they...</p><p class="p1">“Maybe they don’t know—”</p><p class="p1">“They know, Yennefer,” Sabrina said patiently, “I just don’t think they care. It’s not right.”</p><p class="p1">Yennefer looked down at her bloody hands, her soaked rag, her destroyed stem. Felt the pain shoot through her even sharper now, like one of her tutors themselves were holding a knife inside her. She picked up her stem delicately.</p><p class="p1">“Oh.”</p><p class="p1">Sabrina said nothing.</p><p class="p1">This wasn't new. She knew they did this. She knew Tissaia pushed her, sometimes too far, and she knew it wasn't even <em>about</em> her. But somehow— maybe her exhaustion had made her vulnerable?— it hit something soft within and pierced through her. She tried to shake it off. </p><p class="p1">“What are you doing?” </p><p class="p1">“Making more for myself. If I have enough vials, I won’t have to make more to show them when they show us new methods that I already know.”</p><p class="p1">She watched Sabrina work in silence. She did not envy her, how she looked, how she moved. She just wished the difference didn't matter, here, of all places. They had <em>magic</em>, for fuck's sake. She sighed. </p><p class="p1">“You’re not usually…”</p><p class="p1">“Emotional? Pissy?” Sabrina asked with a smile. Yennefer nodded, though Sabrina didn’t look up. “I’m not. Not really. This isn’t about emotions. Emotions and… <em>‘justice’</em> can get tangled up but… in the end, facts are facts.” She wiped her hands on her smock, and gently drained the contents of the stem delicately into a third vial. “And the fact is, they—at Tissaia’s orders, at least— put you at a disadvantage.”</p><p class="p1">Yennefer just stood there, suddenly aware how much her calves and feet ached too— she’d been at this for hours now. Everything ached, including something deep within her that she hated. The thing that was shaped like her childhood self, the little devil that would never leave here. It wasn’t just her— they <em>all</em> saw it. Or at least one of her sisters did, and Sabrina was the most objective of any of them. This wasn’t her emotions getting to her, this was real, and true, and that made it so much worse. The sound of steps could be heard down the hall, and she watched as Sabrina quietly pocketed her vials, and brought out a half-worked stem from the table behind her.</p><p class="p1">Tissaia swept in the room and raised an eyebrow at them both. Yennefer gripped her stem tightly in her hands, let the thorns pierce her skin, let it stick there.</p><p class="p1">“I wasn’t expecting students in the greenhouse at this… late hour,” she said carefully.</p><p class="p1">“Had a couple of bad stems,” Sabrina muttered. She was giving an opening for Yennefer, but judging by the look on her face, turned carefully down at her work, she didn’t expect her sister to take it.</p><p class="p1">“I was set up to fail,” Yennefer said bluntly. Tissaia let out a sigh.</p><p class="p1">“Mm. And did you, at any point, ask for help? Ask questions of Lumette? Ask your sisters for assistance? Call upon someone else?”</p><p class="p1">She gripped the stem tighter, trying to control herself. She could manage her emotions, but this— this wasn’t about chaos, this was about a wholly different kind of power.</p><p class="p1">“May I speak to you in private?”</p><p class="p1">Tissaia’s brows went impossibly higher. “If you wish,” and gestured to the door. Still gripping the stem in one hand, they marched out the door and Yennefer wished her chaos had a better conduit. She wanted to let loose, let the whole fucking academy feel what she could do. She drove the thorns deeper.</p><p class="p1">They walked down the halls in silence. Tissaia caught a glance of Yennefer’s hand, bloody and dripping, clenched around the stem ever still, and chose not to comment. The halls echoed their steps, making the journey seem longer, emptier. Like Aretuza knew itself that what was coming deserved to reverberate through its walls.</p><p class="p1">They made it to Tissaia’s office, and Yennefer closed the door as the elder sorceress sat down at her desk.</p><p class="p1">“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not playing at anything, Yennefer. Neither is Lumette, or any of your tutors. We—”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t care what you think, because you clearly don’t bother to think very much at all,” she cut in. “I can’t take this anymore, Tissaia, this isn’t what this school is supposed to be!” The thought just echoed within her-- it didn't <em>have </em>to be like this for her. They were <em>letting </em>it, sometimes <em>forcing </em>it, to be more difficult.</p><p class="p1">Tissaia gave a small reeling of her head in a mock double take. “Oh, alright then Yennefer, why don’t you tell me <em>my school</em> is supposed to be?”</p><p class="p1">“An academy for magic, not for— for life skills. For learning to control one’s chaos!”</p><p class="p1">“And you think you’ve mastered that?”</p><p class="p1">“No, but I think I deserve the same chances you give everyone else.” Her heart skipped a beat. This was not too much, she thought, this could not be too much to want. She would not let anything be too small to hope for.</p><p class="p1">She sighed. “You need to learn to <em>ask</em> for help, Yennefer.” Yennefer’s head swam, vision clouded by unshed tears once more. She gripped the stem again tighter to ground herself.</p><p class="p1">“No I <em>don’t!</em>” she screamed, “No, I don’t, not like <em>this</em>. You’re my teacher, so teach me! You can’t throw me out to dogs and expect me to know I’m not meant to fight back!” Tissaia gave an uncomfortable look at Yennefer’s hand, which blood continued to drip from.</p><p class="p1">“I didn’t <em>throw</em> you to <em>dogs</em>. I had someone give you a task and expected you to know your limits.”</p><p class="p1">“I know my limits, but you clearly don’t.”</p><p class="p1">“You have to trust in me that—” </p><p class="p1">“And how the hell do I do that?!" She shouted, while Tissaia just sat back in her chair. "I’m not asking for special treatment, Tissaia, and I don’t care <em>why</em> you’re harder on me than the others, I’m just <span class="u">asking</span>—”</p><p class="p1">Oh, no, she wouldn’t fall into that trap. She took a deep breath to steady herself and was surprised that Tissaia didn’t interrupt. Something in her mind became clear, and when she spoke again, she knew her purpose where she stood, felt power in herself that not even chaos could touch.</p><p class="p1">“I am <em>telling you</em> that asking me to do things you know I can’t do makes this place no better than the shithole I grew up in. Magic or not.”</p><p class="p1">Tissaia looked… angry, certainly, bordering on furious but also… hurt. A chink in the armor. <em>Good</em>.</p><p class="p1">“You don't know what this is like- forget how I look- I am in pain <em>constantly</em>, Tissaia, and I have dealt with it my entire life, I still make myself useful, I know my limits better than you ever could. You think you're teaching me something by forcing me into these positions, but all I get is blood and tears and you don't have to deal with an ounce of it. I don't care what you see <em>in</em> me if you don't also <em>see me!</em></p><p class="p1">"You bring me to this place, you set me beside girls with all the opportunity in the world, and you see no difference, but there <em>is</em>, and ignoring it, willfully or no, is cruel. <em>Be cruel if you’d like</em>. I’m not going to ask you to change. I’m just telling you, that if you constantly put me at a disadvantage, making things more difficult than they already are— you’re no better than the man who sold me for four <em>fucking</em> marks.”</p><p class="p1">Yennefer’s eyes burned. She hoped they were fiery, not wet and shining, she hoped she looked as formidable as the chaos inside her was, she prayed she did herself justice.</p><p class="p1">She never wanted to be that little girl, scared, angry, and powerless every again— but gods, she would stand up for her. <em>Someone</em> had to.</p><p class="p1">Tissaia sat there, silent. The anger on her face had dissipated, faded into something else that her cold mask could not hide. When she spoke, it sounded genuine and made Yennefer want to break down and cry, give up the whole thing.</p><p class="p1">“And giving you a home isn’t enough? Giving you true access to your power? Opening to this world to you? Teaching you, sheltering you, none of that is enough?”</p><p class="p1">Yennefer let the question hang in the air. Let the gap between them grow deeper and deeper, gorge itself, until it had grown from a valley to a canyon.</p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">She wanted to take a step closer, but she stood her ground. There would be no platitudes today. They stared at one another. Everything felt… frenetic. Like the air itself was crackling and sparking and dying out over and over again. Tissaia looked… worn, in a way Yennefer didn’t recognize on her features. She looked down at something on her desk, fiddled with the edge of a paper.</p><p class="p1">She wanted to shift on her feet but she meant this. Tissaia had to know she was serious. It didn't matter what her tutor's intentions were, if this was hurting Yennefer, she couldn't imagine someone less sure of themselves dealing with it. But it was still so difficult to say-- and so frustrating to have to say it at all.</p><p class="p1">“It's not even about me, anymore,” she said, breaking the silence. It took Tissaia a moment to look up. “If you ever have a student like me again, they may not know to say this. They may not be your personal project. Every student with chaos in them, everyone here, deserves a chance to realize their power. If you won’t put them on a level playing field with… with simple measures to aid them, then you’ll lose out on some damn powerful mages, and this place will turn weak. And you’ll deserve that.”</p><p class="p1">Tissaia took a deep breath in but spoke before she’d bothered to exhale. “Alright, Yennefer. You’ve made your point. It will be noted.”</p><p class="p1">“And then ignored,” Yennefer cut in. “Do as you please, Tissaia. But don’t think I believe you’re doing me any favors.”</p><p class="p1">Tissaia blanched, eyes wide like she'd been struck.</p><p class="p1">Yennefer turned on her heel, and left. If she ran to her room more than walked, well, there was no one there to see.</p><p class="p1">Why she would never just be good enough to be respected as she was, was beyond her. Everything felt hot, and cold, hot again, vacillating wildly as she finally reached her door. She just wanted— was it selfish? was it unfair? was it greedy? was it unrealistic? <em><span class="u">GOOD</span></em>— to feel cared about. To feel wanted. To feel desired, even in the most platonic of senses. All she wanted was to feel important, and if she couldn’t feel that at the one place she had a chance at belonging, she’d likely never feel it at all.</p><p class="p1">She finally let the tears cut warpaths down her cheeks, falling in earnest and without sign of surrender. Good. Fine. Her emotions gave her power, didn’t they? Then she would feel every minute, every second of this miserable academy until their graduation finally happened in a few months. She swung open her door and slammed it shut behind her, and leaned back against it. A few hitching breaths later, she looked down at her shaking, bloody fist and slowly opened her fingers. The stem was nearly pulp, already turned mostly brown. She took a deep breath and in one fluid motion, ripped it out of her hand, biting back a shout at the pain.</p><p class="p1">She turned to her wastebasket that stood between the door and her desk and dropped the sorry thing in. A small green vial sat on her desk with an even smaller note. Sabrina’s writing was narrow, deliberate, and firm.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>Lumette only said she wanted us all to have a stem’s worth by tomorrow, so here. I have 7 more. You <span class="u">shouldn’t have to ask</span>. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">Something in her heart clenched. She flipped the note over.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p1">
    <em>If they won't be fair, we will. A few of us will be doing other harvesting methods tomorrow in the greenhouse at noon. See you there.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p1">She took a deep breath and choked out a sob. It wasn't the same— nothing could really replace having her tutors care enough to put her on an even playing field— but to have her fellow mages... that was something, something that felt both deeply important, and small enough to hold in her hand.</p><p class="p1">She tried to breathe again, found it came easier. She steadied herself, set the note down, sat down on her bed. Plucked out every thorn left in her skin, one by one, no chaos needed. Changed slowly out of her clothes, healed her tiny wounds, and loosely bandaged her hand.  And when her head hit the pillow, she dreamed of thornless flowers, and of a million more ways to harvest dewberry stems.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TRIGGER WARNINGS:<br/>ABLEISM: from the tutors at Aretuza, especially Tissaia. It is mainly in the sense that they push her too far and think they're helping her by forcing her into uncomfortable situations where she must ask for assistance, rather than just provide her with accommodations. The tutors are clearly meant to be in the wrong, and Yennefer makes this clear. Sabrina, her fellow mage, also acknowledges and points out the inequity multiple times.</p><p>(minor) SELF HARM: Yennefer grips something with thorns and causes herself to bleed, multiple times. She refers to this as helping to ground herself. Eventually, she has to pick the thorns out of her skin and heals herself.</p><p>-x-</p><p>This was cathartic to write, and I hope it was cathartic to read for someone out there as well. You can follow along with my FebuWhump prompts here, as I'm collecting them all in a series. Sending love to everyone, especially those who have lived through situations like this. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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